Edith Pattou - Hero's Song

He could see the morg clearly in the moonlight, sagging on his horse's back. In a ragged voice Collun cried out, "Urlacan!"

The morg turned, and the triumph Collun saw in Urlacan's yellow eyes filled him with a feverish hatred. He began to run toward the morg, dagger upraised. The blue chalcedony glowed.

Urlacan painfully spurred his horse into motion and, pulling sharply on the reins, guided him back toward the forest. Collun let out a cry. He looked wildly around for Fiain, but even as the Ellyl horse came to Collun's side, the morg reached the forest's edge and was quickly lost to sight.

Collun stood still for a moment, ignoring the blood that trickled down his face. In a daze he turned his steps toward the sea cliff. When he got to the edge, he sank to his knees and looked sightlessly down at the crashing surf.

"Collun?" It was Brie. He turned and met her eyes. His own grief was mirrored there.

"He is gone," Collun said, his voice raw.

"Yes," answered Brie.

"How is Gwynedd?"

"Poorly. Gerran, the horse, is dead."

Collun stiffly rose to his feet. He crossed to the fallen prince. A long gash marked the right side of Gwynedd's body. It was as though someone had taken the sharpest of points and riven the flesh from the prince's ribs to his upper leg, where the wound was deepest. There was also a cut in the right side of his face. The handsome features were gray and distorted with pain.

Nearby lay the still figure of the dead horse.

Collun leaned over Gwynedd and gently inspected the wound. It was deep. Collun did not know whether the young prince would survive.

After quickly tending to his own cut forehead, Collun kindled a fire and prepared poultices of comfrey leaves crushed to a pulp and mixed with hot water. When they were ready, Collun laid them along the worst parts of the prince's wound. They quickly soaked through with blood, and he set to work making a new batch.

Gwynedd became delirious. His skin was flaming hot to the touch. He let out low animal sounds, and the only word they could make out was the name of his dead horse. At one point they had to hold him down, his body writhing and twisting as he shouted Gerran's name over and over. The bleeding got heavier.

Collun quickly prepared a mild sedative from valerian leaves and forced it between Gwynedd's cracked lips. After that the prince was quiet, though his fever still burned.

The moon was now high above them. The bluff was cool, with a sharp wind blowing off the ocean. Collun prepared a pan of hot chicory to take off the chill. As he watched the liquid come to a boil over the red-hot embers, his mind kept going back to the two figures struggling at the edge of the precipice.

They had built their fire as far as they could from the bodies of the fallen morgs and tried not to think of the shrouded figures. The morgs' horses had long since bolted.

They sat huddled in front of their campfire, drinking the chicory and listening to Gwynedd's labored breathing. They took turns sleeping and watching the prince.

The next afternoon, while Brie kept watch, Collun and Talisen set about clearing away the dead morgs. They dug a wide, shallow grave and then dragged the creatures into it, careful not to touch their skin. Talisen wanted to make a funeral pyre, but Collun overrode him, and they covered the bodies with earth instead.

Then the two boys dug a grave for Gerran. Collun was glad of all the mind-numbing exertion. They lowered the large animal into the hole they had dug and covered him over with earth and grass. They piled a few rocks up into a cairn.

Then, where Crann had fallen, Collun buried the two halves of his broken staff and laid three white stones over it. He scratched Crann's name onto the top rock. Night had fallen by the time he finished. Collun and Talisen stood for a moment by Crann's cairn, the raw wind penetrating their cloaks. Then Talisen silently stepped away, returning to the warmth of the fire. He lifted his harp into his lap and began to pick out an elegy.

Collun's eyes blurred. He blinked rapidly several times. Looking out into the night, he listened to the sound of the sea under the harp song, and he thought of the old wizard. His long fingers. His tired, seamed face. His clear eyes. Collun could not believe that Crann was gone. He dropped to one knee. Tears slid down his cheeks. He knelt there, unmoving, until long after Talisen's song was done.

Finally Collun straightened and walked back to the fire. Brie was roasting a small badger, while Talisen sipped a cup of chicory. Gwynedd slept.

"I have decided," said Collun. Brie and Talisen looked up, their attention caught by the tone in Collun's voice. "I will journey on alone to find Nessa," Collun went on. "The two of you must take the prince to Temair, where he can get the care he needs. Gwynedd can ride Gealach." Though his voice was edged with grief, there was a forcefulness to it that Brie and Talisen had not heard before. Talisen began to open his mouth to object, but reading the expression in Collun's face, slowly closed it again.

"How will you find Nessa?" asked Brie.

"Crann never told me how or where he planned to make contact with his spies from Scath. So I have decided to return to Beara's Well."

His companions looked at him blankly.

"There has been no chance to tell you, but back in that apple orchard near Trout Beck, I found the well."

"The one with the salmon and the hazel trees and everything?" asked Talisen in amazement.

Collun nodded.

"I do not believe you."

"It is true. And I am hoping the magic there will show me where Nessa is. Crann said the well can find that which is lost."

"And if it does not work?" Brie asked.

"I will go to Scath regardless. But I will not take this." He unclasped from his belt the sheath holding the dagger that had been a trine. "If I am captured or killed by Medb, then at least the stone will not fall into her hands. Take it with you to Temair and give it to Queen Aine."

Brie reached out to take the dagger. "Are you sure?"

Collun nodded, but he felt a sudden stab of loss as he let go of the well-worn handle.

***

The next morning as Collun sat by him, Prince Gwynedd's fever at last broke. His eyelids flickered open.

"Prince Gwynedd. Are you awake?"

The prince nodded weakly. He tried to speak, but Collun could not understand him. He leaned closer.

"Crann?" came the thin voice.

"He is gone, Prince," answered Collun, his own voice expressionless.

Gwynedd's eyelids fell shut and, keeping them closed, he spoke again. "And Gerran. He is dead, too."

Although it was not spoken as a question, Collun replied, "Yes." Gwynedd turned his face away. Collun silently placed his hand on the young prince's arm.

"It is my fault."

Collun could barely hear the muffled words.

"Do not try to talk. You were badly hurt."

Gwynedd kept his face turned away. After a while Collun decided he must have fallen asleep.

Collun left him then and went to the fire. "His fever has broken," Collun told Brie and Talisen. "But I do not know if he has the will to heal."

"His body is strong," Brie replied.

"He is not strong enough to travel, but we can't wait any longer. He must get to Temair. And Urlacan is out there somewhere. He may return."

"Yes," Brie answered.

They got the prince to eat a few bites of bread and some broth and then, in the late afternoon, hoisted him astride the Ellyl horse Gealach.

Before they rode off, they paid a last visit to Crann's cairn. Then, in a hoarse voice, the prince asked to see where Gerran was buried. As they paused by the fresh grave, Collun got a glimpse of Gwynedd's ravaged face. His heart squeezed with pity.

Collun and Brie had studied Crann's map before setting out. Collun had tried to give the map to Brie for their journey to Temair, but she refused to take it.